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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29783283">The Wrong Side of Heaven</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nectere/pseuds/Nectere'>Nectere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cesarean Section, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Hermione Granger, Tags May Change</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:34:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29783283</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nectere/pseuds/Nectere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Corban Yaxley is a widower living alone after the death of his wife and unborn daughter in the first war. He has no-one, and is shocked when a form letter arrives from Hogwarts telling him that his daughter is petrified in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Who is responsible for the false disappearance of his daughter and how will he handle a muggle-raised Gryffindor? How will Hermione take learning that she has never been a muggleborn?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Corban Yaxley/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>303</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>392</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Cuckoo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Corban Yaxley stared at the letter in his hands, completely perplexed at what it claimed to be. He was familiar enough with automated letters, before his dismissal from the  Ministry he had been a member of the Hit Wizards, and form letters were a matter of fact in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. No one sat with a quill for all the notices that needed to go out about shift changes, new discoveries, or injuries -- not when they had magic to do it for them. The letter itself wasn’t the confusing part, it was what the letter </span>
  <em>
    <span>claimed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was on the same official Hogwarts stationary that he remembered from his youth, and gleamed with magic, so he knew it wasn’t a fake, but it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>impossible</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Mr. Yaxley</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> We must regretfully inform you that your child, Miss Hermione Granger, is currently petrified in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. We assure you that your child is receiving the highest standard of care and will keep you apprised of any changes in her status. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sincerely,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Poppy Pomfrey</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Mediwitch</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hogwarts School of Witchcraft &amp; Wizardry</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban Yaxley had no children. He had never even heard the name of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Granger</span>
  </em>
  <span> on its own, and yet, this letter had found him. He knew magic. He trusted magic. It was the centre of any good wizard’s life, their magic informed anything they chose to do, it made them who they were, built on the connection to all of those that had come before them. He had lived his life by that creed. If he was to live up to his ideals there was only one answer. That, however, could be handled later. He needed to get to Hogwarts.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Albus Dumbledore stared at the Death Eater in front of him, and the letter in the man’s hand, perplexed. “There must be some mistake.” He said, after a moment. “While I can confirm that Hermione Granger is in the hospital wing, she is a Muggleborn, Mr. Yaxley.” His usually smiling eyes were stern. “We both know your feelings on muggles, Mr. Yaxley, and unless you are going to confess an affair with Ms. Granger’s mother, I see no way this could be true.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Corban Yaxley drawled. “Your very <em>school</em> has contacted me, claiming me to be her father.” He took a step toward the headmaster. “My wife was </span>
  <em>
    <span>pregnant</span>
  </em>
  <span> when she was supposedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a raid by the Prewett twins, members of your little group, and now the magic in your very castle claims my daughter is here, in your hospital wing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps we could ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span> if your </span>
  <em>
    <span>good friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dolohov hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed</span>
  </em>
  <span> them.” Albus answered, his eyes cold. “But as we cannot, I must ask you to leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Corban said flatly. “</span>
  <span>I have every right to see my daughter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She is not your daughter.” Dumbledore said, losing some of that unflappable calm. “None of the parents of the petrified children have been contacted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban snorted at that. “Muggleborns, I assume.” He said, flatly, barely managing to avoid using the slur. “Ones that </span>
  <em>
    <span>conveniently</span>
  </em>
  <span> become wards of the school while attending, because they have no magical guardian or advocate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Children</span>
  </em>
  <span> completely in your power, and their parents so completely in the dark about the realities of our world you have not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>deigned</span>
  </em>
  <span> to tell them that their children lie </span>
  <em>
    <span>petrified</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He was a fairly imposing man, but his anger only enhanced this. “I want Snape to cast the paternity charm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Professor Snape is…” Dumbledore started, only to be interrupted by the arrival of Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge in the Floo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So sorry, Albus, but…” Cornelius froze at the sight before the two men. “Have we interrupted?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban smiled at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fortuitous</span>
  </em>
  <span> timing. Magic stood with him in this, if he needed any more proof of that, here it was. “I was contacted by form letter.” He announced, holding up the precious parchment. “The castle identified one of the petrified students as my daughter. The Headmaster was about to deny my request that his Potions Master administer the charm to test her paternity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure that’s not true, is it Albus?” Cornelius said, looking distrustfully at Yaxley. While the Minister knew that the former Death Eater had been cleared, due to claiming the Imperius, he did not trust him. There was a reason he had been released from his job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Granger is a known Muggleborn and a Gryffindor.” Albus argued. “Yaxleys are always Slytherins.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Desdemona was a Ravenclaw.” Corban argued, shaking her head. “If our daughter was placed in a muggle family like a cuckoo, she could have gone into any house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Granger is at the top of her year. Some of the highest scores in decades, if not centuries, for her first year.” Lucius said blandly, as if it meant nothing to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, a simple charm should clear all this up.” Cornelius agreed.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Minister, Mr. Malfoy, is there something I can do for you?” Dumbledore asked, coolly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That nasty business can be handled later.” Cornelius said, eager to put off his real reason for being in Hogwarts. “I would like to see this done first.” He paused, looking at Albus, beginning to be just ta little suspicious. “Unless you have something to hide, Albus?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not, Cornelius.” Albus said, blandly. “Let’s head to the Hospital Wing, I’m sure we can get this misunderstanding cleared up.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Corban didn’t need the test in the end, when he saw the girl, ashen and still on the hospital bed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something</span>
  </em>
  <span> in him recognized her in a way he could not have explained. Yes, it could just be wishful thinking, but it could be something else as well. He had been alone for a long time, bitter for at least that long, resentful of his friends’ happiness. He had not had anything to do with Parkinson in years, unable to stand his crowing over his precious Pansy when he hadn’t even had anything left to bury. He had hated mudbloods even more, for entering their world, going to classes, living the life his daughter should have had, but now, here she was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vaguely, somewhere, he heard Severus do the charm, but he could hardly take his eyes off of the girl. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he didn’t know if that was a joy or a mercy. It was not the name he and Desdemona had chosen, but he didn’t care. The rope of blood red magic wrapped around his right wrist and tied to hers, confirming what he already knew. “She’s mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even Cornelius could see the emotion on the man’s face. “Congratulations, Yaxley.” He said, quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When will she wake?” Corban asked, afraid to answer the Minister, afraid to lash out at everyone who hid this from him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The mandrakes should be ready for cutting by the end of the month, or the beginning of the next.” Severus answered, before Albus could say anything else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m staying.” Corban said flatly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I cannot allow that, Mr. Yaxley.” Albus said firmly. “This is a school. I cannot have you in the hospital wing with vulnerable students.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s my </span>
  <em>
    <span>daughter</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Corban argued, finally looking away. “You cannot force me away from her bedside!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She has never met you!” Albus argued, shaking his head. “As Headmaster the health and well-being of my students </span>
  <em>
    <span>must </span>
  </em>
  <span>come first, Mr. Yaxley.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid that’s why I am here, Dumbledore.” Lucius said, smoothly, as if he had been waiting for such an opening. “Given the situation here, all the petrifications, the Board of Governors have voted to have you removed…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban paid little attention, waving his wand to conjure a chair and sit by the hospital bed. He didn't care right now about Dumbledore, the Minister, Lucius, Severus, politics, or any of the rest of it. Later, he would care. Later, he would want anyone and everyone to pay, but for right now, all he could focus on was his daughter, the daughter he had thought lost for years, now in front of him, petrified beyond movement, but she would not be alone. His cold heart thawed just a little as he settled in to wait and watch.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Paternitatibus Charm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Corban sits a vigil and eventually, Hermione wakes.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Corban was vaguely aware of the other wizards leaving him, and then later, the lights dimming slightly, but he was struggling within himself. The war had been dark, dangerous, and deadly for all involved. The so-called ‘light,’ had won, and painted themselves as noble, when they had used many of the same tactics. Hundreds had been wiped out in intimidation strikes between the two sides. The Prewett twins and Dearborn had blown up Weeoanwhisker's Barber Shop, because several Death Eaters had been inside at the time. He had always believed, as had everyone else, that the explosion, and the fire it started next door at Cogg and Bell Clockmakers had killed his wife. While no-one had ever found a body, he had known she was dead by the date appearing underneath her portrait at home, followed not so shortly after by the animation of the portrait. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ran his fingers over the gold pocketwatch again, a piece of guilt he had carried religiously for years. Desdemona had gone to the clock shop to order the watch, to celebrate their first child. It was intended to hold a picture of the three of them. Instead, it had remained empty, a morbid reminder of the family he had failed. Intellectually he knew it was not his fault, she had stopped at Pilliwinkle's Playthings for more toys for their daughter, and could have been just as easily passing by the barbershop without having stopped for the watch, but he had held onto the idea that it was because of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, he grimly couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. Had some Order member cut their child from Desdemona’s belly and killed her? Had the explosion and the stress caused her to go into labour, and if so, what had been done with her body? How had they managed to save the newborn but not the mother?  Who had kidnapped their baby and placed it with </span>
  <em>
    <span>muggles?</span>
  </em>
  <span> It had to have been the Order, anyone else would have returned the baby to him, or gone to St. Mungo’s so that the father, he, could be found. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so he sat, silent, scenario after scenario floating through his mind until he finally had to face the fact that nothing could change it, and that his twelve-year-old daughter had been raised by muggles, had been raised to think him evil, had been thought to be a mudblood her entire life. He had no way of knowing if she would run screaming from him or if she would embrace him as the father that he so desperately wanted to be. He had no idea if she would even accept him as her father over the muggle who had taken his place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yaxley.” Snape’s voice broke his silent thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Snape.” Corban answered, glancing up at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Narcissa has sent over some of Lucius’s things for you, so that the elves can clean your robes.” Severus explained, placing a bag at his feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s a good witch.” Corban managed, before looking back at Hermione. “Did you know, Snape?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Severus admitted, shaking his head. “Though now, looking back, I wonder how I didn’t see the resemblance.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No-one sees what they are not expecting.” Corban said, with the knowledge of years in law enforcement. “Why would you look at a muggleborn and expect to see my daughter, to see Des’s daughter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Severus paused for a moment. “She successfully  made polyjuice in the abandoned bathroom this year, stole ingredients from my stores to do it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban actually managed a chuckle at that. “Des would have been so proud.” He said, shaking his head, a besotted little smile tinged with sadness appearing on his face. “She would have scolded her for how dangerous it was to attempt in a non-sanitary environment, and then made her a cake for managing to do it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Severus said, nodding. He could very easily see Desdemona Yaxley doing that. “She probably would have.” He stayed for a little while longer, but Corban seemed quiet again, and he left him be.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The call came in the afternoon: an explosion in Horizont Alley near Carkitt Market. Corban didn’t need to fake his surprise, as he had no warning of any movements from the Death Eaters that day. His squad was dispatched, and the Alley was in chaos. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What are we dealing with, Scrimgeour?” he demanded from the up-and-coming Auror. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Explosion around the barber shop. The fire spread into the clockshop.” Rufus Scrimgeour explained, methodically. “Multiple casualties, including Barnabas Burke and Jacob Bell.” The young Auror grimaced. “We’re identifying most of the dead by their wands. Some of the bodies are unidentifiable.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Corban suspected this had been an order hit, not a Death Eater hit at all, mostly due to the lack of the Dark Mark, but he rolled up the sleeves of his robes and waded in to find any injured and get them out. It wasn’t his usual job, but in war, even Hit Wizards did triage now and then.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yaxley!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was grim-faced and pulling the body of Mattie Boline from one of the fallen iron grates that had decorated Carkitt Market, when Moody called for him. Handing the work off to one of the young Aurors he suspected would wash out in the next week, he jumped to his feet and headed over to the Auror. “Sir?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re married, aren’t you?” Alastor asked, gruff as ever. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Corban was visibly confused by the question, out of place at a crime scene. His only thought was that perhaps Desdemona, in the last of her pregnancy, had gone to St. Mungo’s and was calling for him. “Yes sir? Did Des go into labour? I can call Galloglass if I need to get to the hospital.” He was already starting to wipe the ash and blood from his hands, and almost missed the way Moody blanched. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yaxley…” The grizzled Auror said, his voice changing, as he held out a familiar wand to him...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“...Yaxley. Mr. Yaxley!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban woke with a start, to find a stern-faced Minerva McGonagall looking down at him. He shook his head, letting the darkness of the memory dissipate. “My apologies, Professor.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Minerva did not soften at all. “You really </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> go home, Mr. Yaxley. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>highly irregular</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and while I understand…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you understand, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Professor?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Corban bit out, getting to his feet. “Because I don’t. I can’t understand. Did someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>murder</span>
  </em>
  <span> my </span>
  <em>
    <span>wife</span>
  </em>
  <span> to give our </span>
  <em>
    <span>daughter</span>
  </em>
  <span> to some muggles? Was she injured and dying?” He kept his voice low, knowing that Hermione could not hear, but not wanting to disturb anyone anyway. “Her body was never found. Did they throw her aside like a piece of garbage?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sitting here will not answer those questions, Mr. Yaxley.” Minerva said firmly, though her face was a little green. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I lost thirteen years with my daughter, Professor.” Yaxley replied tartly. “I am not about to leave her now, while she sits in a hospital bed, petrified.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She cannot hear you.” Minerva reminded him with a sniff. “She is completely unaware.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that.” Corban replied, resuming his seat. “But I am her father and I am going to be here for her, whether she knows it or not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She has a family, Mr. Yaxley.” Minerva reminded him. “She has a father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She has </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidnappers</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>accomplices</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Corban bit out. “Or at best muggles duped into raising her.” He didn’t move. “I’m her father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Minerva opened her mouth to challenge him again, but at his glare, swept from the room instead.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Corban was vaguely aware of time passing. Madam Pomfrey prodded him to make sure he ate when she checked on her petrified charges, and a house-elf refreshed a mug of strong tea as he sat, but as the days passed, he kept his vigil. Minerva tried several times to convince him to leave, unsuccessfully, and when he returned to Hogwarts, smug with success, Albus tried his hand, but he also failed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, on the last day of May, Severus appeared with a vial, Professor McGonagall by his side, and he administered the potion to reverse the petrification. Corban stared as Hermione’s skin slowly began to take on colour better, her muscles twitched, and finally she took a breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a basilisk!” She managed, “Don’t look…” She took a deep breath, and then seemed to realise she was not where she had been attacked, by a basilisk of all things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s all right, Miss Granger.” Professor McGonagall told her. “The basilisk has been dispatched. You and everyone else are going to be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Hermione said, seeming to decompress with a breath as she shifted her hands slightly and struggled to sit up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Slowly,” Corban advised, reaching out and touching her shoulder as she listed to the side. “Be careful, you’ve been petrified for almost a month.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Mr…” Hermione trailed off, suddenly aware that she had no idea who this man was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is Mr. Corban Yaxley.” Severus said, rescuing them both. “He has been watching over you since you were petrified.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione blinked, and then offered him a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Yaxley, it’s nice to meet you.” She said, obviously curious as to why he had been concerned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban fumbled with his own words, unsure on how to respond on seeing his own smile on a smaller face, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>daughter’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> face. “It was the least I could do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have fresh robes for you, Ms. Granger.” Professor McGonagall interrupted. “If you’ll follow me, I will show you where you can get a bath, and then I want to see you in my office.” She paused, her lips thinning as she resisted the urge to glare at the two men. “We have some things to discuss about what’s happened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes ma’am.” Hermione said, bobbing a nod. “Is...is everyone all right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Ms. Granger, everyone will be fine.” Professor McGonagall assured her. “Now, please follow me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban reached out a hand to steady her as she slid from the hospital bed, and received another one of those strange smiles in return, one he couldn’t help but share.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You will show him to my office, Professor Snape?” Minerva said, sharply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, Professor McGonagall.” Severus answered with a nod.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Hermione indulged in a long bath, washing the grime and grainy feeling of petrification from her skin. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> something was going on, something involving her, but she wasn't sure what. She knew Professor McGonagall was unhappy, but the stern Head of Gryffindor House let nothing slip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this about Mr. Yaxley, Professor McGonagall?” She asked, as they made their way toward Minerva’s office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Minerva paused. “It’s not my place to say, Ms. Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s curiosity was beginning to </span>
  <em>
    <span>devour</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, and it was only that combined with her slight fear of Professor Snape that kept her from laughing when Professor McGonagall opened the door to her office. Professor Snape was watching Mr. Yaxley pace, and Professor Snape's </span>
  <em>
    <span>expression</span>
  </em>
  <span> was so amusing she barely kept it down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please sit, Ms. Granger.” Professor McGonagall said, taking her seat behind the desk. “You as well, Mr. Yaxley.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As one, the two sat on the chairs across from the desk, and Professor Snape snorted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Yaxley, if you would like to begin.” Professor McGonagall said, though her face was screwed up into something sour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban took a deep breath, and drew a worn picture from his pocket. “Thirteen years ago, I was a Hit-Wizard for the Ministry.” He began, swallowing hard. “The war was raging, Death Eaters and Dumbledore’s Order squaring off and attacking one another, everyone suspicious of everyone else, and chaos in the streets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I imagine it was a very difficult time to be in law enforcement.” Hermione said, puzzled. “But I thought the basilisk was from the Founders’ time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was, Miss Granger.” Minerva said, offering her a tin of biscuits. “This is about something else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is Harry okay?” Hermione demanded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Potter will be fine.” Minerva reassured her. “Have a biscuit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione made a face, wondering why her professor said ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>will be fine’ </span>
  </em>
  <span> and not </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘is fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>,’ but she also knew the boys’ tendencies to get into trouble. She took a piece of shortbread from the tin and listened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban winced at the idea of his daughter as friends of the boy who had destroyed the Dark Lord, but said nothing, continuing the story instead. He reached into his pocket and drew out a wizarding photo, placing it on the desk in front of them. “It was a hard time, but it was happy as well, for me. I was new to the Hit-Wizards, promoted from the Aurors, and my wife Desdemona was pregnant with our first child.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione stared at the photo of a pretty witch with caramel curls, leaning on a lamppost and smiling. She touched her own hair, a sinking feeling beginning to develop in her stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One day, I was called to Horizont Alley. There had been an explosion, multiple people were killed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Death Eaters?” Hermione whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban shrugged. “The Auror Department investigated, but no conclusions were ever reached. However, it is unlikely, because the Dark Mark was never cast, and the target seemed to be the barber where several Death Eaters had appointments. Two of the three were killed in the blast, and two more died at the hospital.” He swallowed hard. “But the explosion didn’t just kill Death Eaters.” He paused slightly. “We were doing triage, finding bodies where there were bodies to find, identifying who was dead and missing by their wands, trying to find survivors.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled out the gold watch, running his thumb over it. “I had no idea Des was planning to go out that day. She had been going stir crazy, she was in the last of her pregnancy and uncomfortable. She went to the clockmaker’s beside the barber shop to special order this watch for me. I think she planned to give it to me when our daughter was born as a gift…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione, not knowing why, but her heart hurt for the man, and she reached out, putting her hand on his arm. “You don’t have to tell me, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I do.” Corban said honestly. “You deserve to know.” He patted her hand, and turned over the watch to her. “Auror Moody handed me her wand. I...didn’t want to believe it. I rushed home, to find that the date had appeared underneath her portrait as her date of death.” He swallowed hard. “I lost everything that day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione kept her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, sir.” She paused. “But I don’t see what that has to do with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Granger.” Professor Snape spoke then. “You are aware that the letters you receive with your books and requirements each year are magically written?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir!” Hermione chirped, sitting straighter. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hogwarts, A History</span>
  </em>
  <span> says that Helga Hufflepuff herself created the Book and Quill of Acceptance, and that magic itself writes the name of each child born with magic in the UK at the moment their magic emerges.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Correct.” Professor Snape said, easily. “There are other similar enchantments. There is one, for example, in the Hospital Wing, that alerts parents if a child is severely injured or unconscious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione felt her stomach drop. “Oh no.” She gasped, covering her mouth. “After Mr. Weasley and Draco’s father got into a fight, my parents didn’t want me to come back to Hogwarts! Have they pulled me out of class? Am I being escorted away?” Her wide eyes turned to Professor McGonagall and she shot to her feet. “Is that why there’s a Hit-Wizard here? Please, Professor, you can’t let them! They don’t understand magic! They don’t understand that I’m no good at making friends, that everyone in Primary thought I was strange…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Granger.” Professor McGonagall said, and then after a moment when Hermione continued to panic she raised her voice higher. “Miss Granger!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione squeaked, and slid back into the chair. “Sorry Professor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Muggleborns are considered wards of the school once they enter Hogwarts at the beginning of the year.” Professor Snape drawled. “No letters went out to any muggles about the petrifications. Their parents have no legal standing in our world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione made a face, but before she could question as to the rightness of such a position, the man beside her spoke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I received a letter.” He said, quietly, handing it to her. “I thought it was a cruel joke for a moment, before I realised that it was crafted by Magic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione read the letter quickly, before looking up at him, hands shaking. “How is this possible? I thought your wife died?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She did.” Corban admitted. “Her portrait is animated, which is only possible after death. The plate shows her death date as the nineteenth of September, nineteen seventy-nine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s my birthday.” Hermione agreed. “But I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>muggleborn</span>
  </em>
  <span>. My parents are </span>
  <em>
    <span>dentists</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Professor Snape spoke then, his voice kinder than she had ever heard it. “I know this is a shock, Ms. Granger, but there is a charm to show paternity…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The <em>paternitatibus</em> charm.” Hermione agreed, and then when the adults in the room looked at her strangely, she flushed red. “I read about it when I was trying to figure out if there was a way to determine if Harry was related to Salazar Slytherin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you did.” Corban said with a chuckle. “Let me guess, something mentioned it in a footnote and you ended up chasing the thread?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?” Hermione repeated, looking ashamed of herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I get it.” Corban said, after a moment. “I didn’t become a Hit-Wizard because I let possible leads fall through the cracks.” He smiled at her. “Being thorough is a good thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Although if you could learn to constrain your answers to an essay to the proscribed length, all of us would thank you.” Severus remarked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione started to smile at Mr. Yaxley, and then froze. “But this isn’t possible. How could I end up in the muggle world? Mom has pictures of her pregnant with me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you trust me to do the charm, Ms. Granger?” Professor McGonagall asked, her eyes kind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione swallowed hard. “Yes, Professor. I trust you.” She was sure this was all a terrible mix-up. Her heart bled for poor Mr. Yaxley, who had lost his wife, only for some stupid mix-up in the hospital wing to give him some strange hope about </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Until the red rope of the charm wrapped around her wrist and then his. Her heart felt like it sunk to her feet and she was left staring at the scarlet cord.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Aftershocks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The beginnings of a plan come together, while Corban and Hermione try to navigate the complications that the Ministry brings.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hermione stared at her wrist, and then over at the wizard sitting beside her. She felt for a moment as if she had been petrified again. There was a numbness that stole over her, and she forced herself to think logically. “What happens now?” The teachers were silent for a moment, neither seemingly knowing what to say or do, and for the first time since she had come to Hogwarts Hermione truly understood that there wasn’t a spell for everything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That depends on you.” Corban said softly, looking over at her.  “I want to file with the Ministry to have the Aurors look into your mother’s death and what happened to you. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to find out about the day you were born and how you ended up with the muggles who raised you, but I won’t unless you say I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione blinked at this. “Of course!” She said, passionately. “You deserve justice. You deserve to know what happened. Why would you need my permission?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ms. Granger…” Minerva said slowly, but then paused, looking as if for the first time in many years she had no idea what to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Statute of Secrecy is our most precious law, Ms. Granger.” Professor Snape picked up for the flummoxed Gryffindor Head of House. “Muggles are only permitted to be aware of our world if an immediate family member is magical.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione tilted her head at him. “I know, sir.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What he’s not saying, Hermione, is that if I report this, the Ministry will officially do the test and record you as my daughter. The muggles who raised you would be obliviated.” Corban explained, steadying her when she gasped. “The laws are very strict.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But they’re my parents!” Hermione protested, and then immediately felt bad when she saw the wizard at her side wince. “No offence, sir, but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand.” Corban said roughly, cutting her off before she could go into detail. “But the Ministry will focus on blood and not how you feel, Hermione, especially since we don’t know if they were involved in the plot to kidnap you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s blood ran cold for a moment. Somehow, the thought that her parents could be involved in her </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidnapping</span>
  </em>
  <span> had never crossed her mind. The word </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidnapping</span>
  </em>
  <span> in relation to her didn’t seem real. It made sense though, for him to use it. Her eyes went wide and flew to him. “You’re a Hit-Wizard! Can’t you find out on your own? Can’t we find out the truth without telling anyone?” She blew out a breath. “I’ll help! I’m good at research! There’s no way my parents were involved in </span>
  <em>
    <span>killing</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidnapping</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone. They’re dentists!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wizard closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I haven’t been a Hit-Wizard for ten years, Hermione, but for you, I’ll see what I can find out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yaxley…” Professor Snape warned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s what she wants, Severus.” Yaxley cut him off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s <em>thirteen</em>. Are you willing to go to Azkaban over a childish whim if you’re caught poking into things you should not?” Snape snapped at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione glanced between the two of them, not truly understanding what they were saying. “What am I missing, Professor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just politics, Hermione.” Mr. Yaxley answered. “Nothing you have to worry about.” He glared at Professor Snape. “Your professor is very good at looking at the worst case scenario.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Professor Snape scoffed. “A former hit-wizard looking into the wartime death of his wife? It is more than conflict of interest, Corban, and if they were to discover Miss Granger, and that you had been concealing her, the punishment could be severe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I regularly make inquiries about the explosion.” Corban pointed out. “It would hardly be unexpected. They wouldn’t need to wonder at why. Everyone still in the office knows I’ve been trying to solve it since it happened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione knew that looking into a case like this wouldn’t be entirely legal, and assumed that was why the wizarding prison had been brought up, but still...she </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> her parents. Sure, she didn’t see them much during the year, but they were still her parents,and  even if they weren’t by blood, they were in other ways that mattered. “Thank you, sir.” She said to Mr. Yaxley. “I know it must be hard for you, Mr. Yaxley.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Yaxley winced, before he spoke again. “I understand that you aren’t comfortable calling me father or dad.” He said slowly. “But can we settle on Corban instead of sir or Mr. Yaxley?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione had been taught from a young age that you did not refer to your elders by their first name. “I’ll try, si...Corban.” Her face twisted into a moue of distaste. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban sighed. He had been required to call his father sir and hated it. His relationship with the old man had never been close. He would have never wanted his daughter to be so formal with him, but, he realised, he <em>was a stranger.</em>“ I suppose sir is fine, if that's what you're comfortable with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione bit her lip. “Thank you for asking me, sir.” She said finally. “I know you wouldn’t have to keep quiet, especially about letting the Ministry know. Is there...am I a half-blood?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yaxley chuckled. “Afraid not, little one. You’re a bona-fide pureblood member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.” He reached out, and then paused, dropping his hand. “Yaxleys have been in Suffolk since the Norman invasion, at least.” He paused. “Your mother’s family are French, and tend to be Potioneers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was strange to think of herself as a pureblood, especially after this past year when she had learned what a ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>mudblood’</span>
  </em>
  <span> was, and had been terrified that the monster...the </span>
  <em>
    <span>basilisk</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the Chamber of Secrets would come after her because she was a muggleborn. A large part of her identity in the wizarding world was tied up in being a muggleborn, and now...now she was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pureblood.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A pureblood like Pansy or Draco or Crabbe and Goyle. Well, not exactly. She’d probably rather be a pureblood like the Weasleys. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is your family particularly known for anything?” Hermione asked, curiously, more interested in that than whose nose eshe had inherited or whether anyone else had buck teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Transfiguration tends to run strong.” Corban said after a moment. “Your grandmother is brilliant at Charms.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione blinked. “I...I have grandparents?” She was an only child, and had only met Emma Granger’s mother once when she was a child. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Most of them.” Corban admitted, with a smile. “My mother and Des’s parents both, though I’ll admit the latter haven’t talked to me in the past decade.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed and turned to look at his daughter. “I know that you want to stay with...with the Grangers...and I...understand...as best I can, but...if you are open to it, I would like to get to know you, maybe you could come spend a month at the end of summer in Suffolk with me? You’ll have your own room, and you can decorate it however you would like. I’ll even let you put up Gryffindor banners.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione chuckled a little at his expression. “You were a Slytherin, weren’t you, sir?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Guilty.” Corban answered with a smile. “Your mother was a Ravenclaw, through and through, however.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was almost a Ravenclaw.” Hermione admitted. “I was practically a hatstall. In the end the hat decided on Gryffindor.” She frowned. “Is that disappointing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Little one, I’ve mourned you for thirteen years.” Corban admitted, the nickname he had thought of her as for so many years slipping into his speech again without thought. “I’ve never even had the heart to be rid of your nursery. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> could not disappoint me, especially not for something as inconsequential as your House.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione smiled at that. She had always had a driving urge to prove herself, partially because both of her parents worked demanding jobs, and partially because they demanded excellence. The idea that she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> disappoint him was a pleasant one. Especially when she compared that sentiment to how seriously some people took house allegiances. “I’ll have to ask Mum and Dad if I can go.” She admitted. “I can tell them I’m going to visit a friend.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She did not miss the grimace on Mr. Yaxley’s face and felt bad for it, but all he said was: “I understand,” which made her feel almost worse. He was being so understanding, and all he wanted was his daughter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can write to me, though!” Hermione suggested, trying to take the sadness from his eyes. “I don’t have an owl of my own, but if you send me letters, I’ll write back.” \</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like that very much.” Corban replied, smiling at her. “And if you ever need </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I am only an owl away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione didn’t know if she was comfortable asking for </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span>, really, but after the encounter last summer ended up in her nearly being pulled from Hogwarts, well, she would take advantage of his generosity just a little. “We could get my things for next year together?” She offered. “Even if I can’t get away for an entire month, I could arrange that. Mu...they don’t feel comfortable in Diagon Alley, and after Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy got in a fight this past summer, they almost pulled me out of Hogwarts.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Corban kept his smile on his face as best he could, despite the pain that she would rather stay with the muggles, he worked hard to stay calm and easygoing. They had raised her for thirteen years. They had been the ones to change diapers, to heal injuries, to give cuddles and read stories before tucking her into bed. He was a stranger, no matter how wrong it was or how much he wished he could change it. It would take time to create a relationship with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” He replied, despite the fact that he had avoided Diagon Alley to the best of his ability for years now. He could do it with her, he would make himself. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> weak. If this was all his daughter would allow him to do for her for now, then he would do it and gladly. “And I’ll have to see if I can arrange a portkey of some kind so that if you should ever want to visit, you can, even if you can’t get away for long periods of time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to make sure that should anything happen, she had a way to get away. While she seemed sure that her muggle ‘parents’ were not involved in her kidnapping, he was no-way near so trusting. No matter what the stern-faced McGonagall would think, it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>because they were muggles. The name being so close to Desdemona’s maiden name, the timing being so exact, her insisting there were photos of her muggle mother pregnant, he couldn’t help it. He was suspicious of them and their involvement, but he could not let his suspicions get in the way of building a relationship with his daughter before he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>real proof</span>
  </em>
  <span> of their duplicity. If he tried, he would only push Hermione toward them. She knew them and would immediately trust them more than the stranger who claimed to be her father. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would have to work to build her trust. He would have to be honest, as honest as he could be, and share with her emotions he usually hid beneath his more cold-hearted attitude.  Given her quick mind and similarities to Desdemona, she would also obviously need </span>
  <em>
    <span>evidence</span>
  </em>
  <span> of anything he claimed -- and just in case she was as like him as she was Desdemona, it had to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>real. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Unless he missed his guess, Hermione would cross-reference and check any proof he offered up, just to make sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then.” Minerva said, interrupting the silence the pair had fallen into. “Now that a plan has been established, I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> ask you to leave, Mr. Yaxley. You may use my Floo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban somehow managed not to glare at the annoying old biddy as he stood. “Remember,” he reminded Hermione, who looked surprised that the meeting was coming to a close. “If you need </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll remember.” Hermione said, looking only slightly less shaken. “I...goodbye, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay safe, little one.” Corban murmured in return, before sighing and heading to the Floo. He took a pinch of powder from the dish shoved towards him by Minerva, and calling out his destination, disappeared into the emerald flames.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Portents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Minerva and Hermione have a talk, and Albus tries to discover how everything happened.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hermione took a deep breath, letting herself decompress and letting her guard down. She was feeling so much that she didn’t quite know how she was feeling, or at least, she was having trouble compartmentalizing it. She sat in the comfortable green velvet chair, not even noticing when Professor Snape left the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Granger?” Minerva said, bringing Hermione out of her thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, Professor.” Hermione immediately apologised, flushing red. “Thank you for...for being here, for casting the charm, for...all of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s the least I could do, Miss Granger.” Minerva said gently. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to impose…” Hermione began to protest, but as if she had said nothing, the silver tea set floated over to the desk, and she spared her Head of House a smile. “Thank you, Professor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t imagine what a trying time this is for you.” Minerva admitted, preparing the fine porcelain cups. “To be petrified and then to wake to this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m still processing it, if I’m honest.” Hermione admitted, her eyes following the comforting dance of tea measuring and preparing. “It doesn’t quite feel real, yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Minerva hummed as she poured the tea with practiced, precise movements. “I feel as though I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you, Hermione.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Warn me?” Hermione asked, tilting her head. “About what? That we might not be able to find out the truth of what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Minerva sighed, and put the teapot back down. “That as well.” She admitted. “The war was a chaotic time. There were many good people who were never found, many who were only found in pieces. Almost an entire generation was lost.” She stirred a bit of milk into her tea. “But in actuality, I was referring to Mr. Yaxley.” She took a sip, pausing as if to consider her words. “The reason the man is no longer a Hit-Wizard is because he was a Death Eater during the war.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s eyes widened, and she almost dropped her spoon. “Then how is he not in Azkaban?” She demanded, fear now coursing through her system. What if he attacked her parents out of jealousy or some misguided sense of justice? “How do I make sure he doesn’t attack my parents?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Minerva took a biscuit from the tin. “He was acquitted, he claimed to be under the Imperius Curse, which is a form of mind control.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I read about it.” Hermione admitted. “It’s one of the Unforgivables, right?” She checked. “I was worried when Harry was hearing the Basilisk, that it might be someone attempting to control him.” She had also considered a psychotic break, but based on what he said, the Imperius had seemed more reasonable at the time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, exactly.” Minerva said, with a nod. “Many of your classmates’ fathers escaped Azkaban by claiming to have only committed atrocities under the use of the Unforgivable. Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Nott, Mr. Crabbe, and Mr. Goyle, as examples.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Were</span>
  </em>
  <span> they under the Imperius?” Hermione questioned, recognising the list as a who’s who of the Slytherins in her year, and barring Theodore, all of them had been bullies in one way or another. If she had been raised by Corban, would she be like them? She had pondered the fact that she was pureblooded like them, but did that mean she would have been like them?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Minerva’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “It is impossible to prove.” She admitted. “That is why so many got away with it. I will say that when he was turned over by other Death Eaters, it was something of a shock. He was a well-respected Auror, and while they were purebloods, the Yaxleys were never considered on the same levels as the Malfoys or the Notts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So it’s possible he really was cursed?” Hermione pressed. She had a hard time believing that someone who swore fealty to a horrible person like Voldemort could show the amount of </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span> towards someone like her, someone who had been raised by muggles, and a Gryffindor to boot. She couldn’t imagine any of the fathers Professor McGonagall mentioned being unbothered by her house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s possible.” Minerva allowed. “But those were dark times, Hermione. It was hard to trust anyone.” She sighed, as if with an old pain that Hermione could not understand for her youth. “Betrayal came from all quarters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione frowned. “Was he right that if he told the Ministry I’m his daughter, and someone administered the test, that I would be taken away and my parents would be obliviated?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Minerva admitted, shaking her head. She paused, as if considering what to say. “The Ministry is very strident on the Statute of Secrecy. When I was fresh out of Hogwarts and looking to join the Aurors, I met a young man near my parents’ home.” There was a small wistful smile on her face, and Minerva floated a photo of a young man with kind eyes over from her bookcase. “His name was Dougal, and he was a muggle, his father was a farmer nearby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was he killed by Death Eaters?” Hermione asked, knowing that the story could only end sadly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Minerva said, shaking her head. “No, he’s living happily in Scotland. You see, because of the statute, I knew that if I wanted to be with him, I would have to give up my dreams of being an Auror, but even more than that, I would have to give up my wand and stop practicing magic. I had just finished Hogwarts, and I was free in our world as an adult for the first time.” She stirred her tea, and Hermione thought that she looked rather as if she was seeing the past in the depths of the teacup. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t do it.” Professor McGonagall started again, putting her spoon aside. “My mother had done it, she was a Ross, and she walked away from all of it to marry my father.” There was a hint of a smile on her face, but it was sad. “Some of my first memories are of her desperately trying to conceal my magic from my father. He was a minister, ye ken, and such things were </span>
  <em>
    <span>unseemly</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She took a sip of her tea. “I knew she had always hoped my brothers and I would be born squibs. My parents always loved each other, but Da never trusted Mam after my magic exposed her as a witch, and she and I never had the same relationship.” She sipped her tea, lost in thought. “When my brothers were born, up until I left for Hogwarts, my job was to help conceal their magic. We were already considered suspicious. The town never quite got over the Reverend’s wife naming his daughter after a pagan goddess. It was beyond indecorous.” She frowned at a memory. “When my letter to Hogwarts came, my mother cried from envy, not pride. She missed her magic.” She put her cup down. “I knew myself enough to know I couldn’t do it, not like my mother had, and so, I met Dougal and gave him back the ring he had proposed to me with, and we parted ways. I checked on him a few times, but it was not to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione felt her heart break for Professor McGonagall and the professor’s mother, but then she remembered Seamus’s comment about how his magic had been ‘a bit of a nasty shock,’ for his father. Somehow, it just didn’t seem fair that her parents were told early, and she kept her wand, while others lost theirs. It was something that needed changed. Everyone should be able to be with the people they loved. “I don’t see what that has to do with my parents, though. They already know the truth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Minerva frowned slightly. “Muggleborns are very special, surprises brought about by nature itself, but they can’t provide for themselves. According to the Ministry, especially in case parents produce more than one magical child, the parents are allowed to know about our world. However, in order to protect muggleborns, once you enter Hogwarts each year, you become a ward of the school. This ensures that you cannot be suddenly withdrawn and means that if anything happens to anyone, like if someone had passed from the basilisk, the muggle parents remain free of culpability. The school takes on the guilt, and must deal with the muggle government.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione nodded slowly, still not seeing what it had to do with her parents. “But my parents are still my parents.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Minerva frowned. “According to the government, they are not. While I agree with you, the law does not. The laws we have here are quite progressive, actually. In America, there is a law called </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rappaport’s Law</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which firmly restricts all contact between the muggle and magical worlds. No muggles are permitted to know about magic. Parents are obliviated as soon as a child shows their magic, and they are integrated into the magical world. Many have no idea, showing magic before they would even remember their parents, and if they protest, their memories are modified.” Minerva sighed. “This </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> come out someday, Ms. Granger. When it does, I’m afraid all you can hope for is a chance to say goodbye, because you will lose your muggleborn status and with it, your rights to live on both sides of the world with your magic intact.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione couldn’t help but stare at her Head of House. “They’ll erase me from my parents' memories? Like they never had a daughter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if you fight it, they will alter your memories.” Minerva agreed, face dark. “You lived as a muggleborn so long that I’m not sure how thorough the Obliviators could be, or how they might manage to alter everyone’s memories, but it is possible they could attempt it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione, for the first time since the living chessboard in the chase for the Philosopher’s Stone, realised the </span>
  <em>
    <span>cruelty</span>
  </em>
  <span> of people. She felt as if she should cry, but felt too wrung out to manage tears. At the same time, she couldn’t help but put this new information in context of what could happen. “Thank you for explaining it to me, Professor McGonagall.” Hermione said slowly. “I think...I need some sleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go, Hermione.” Minerva said, patting her hand. “You’ve had a few nasty shocks today. You deserve to sleep.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Later that night, Albus Dumbledore was pacing his office, his mind awhirl with possibilities. It had not been an act, his defensiveness of Hermione Granger, his surety that she was a muggleborn and had nothing to do with Corban Yaxley. He had believed every word of it. He turned another circuit in his office, trying to figure out the next steps of the plan, and how everything had altered with one irresponsible, automatic letter. Hermione had become indispensable to Harry and Ron, and Albus had been pleased. The connection with a muggleborn, showing the three blood-statuses working together in harmony had been a great example of what the wizarding world could be, but more than that, she helped them with their schooling. After Hermione’s petrification, both the boys’ grades had dropped, and it had only been due to Hermione’s discovery that it was a basilisk and using the pipes that had allowed Harry to save the day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry had shown great loyalty to him and to Hogwarts, the ideals the school espoused to be able to summon Fawkes and pull the Sword of Gryffindor from it. The foul book only made it more obvious that it was Harry which was destined to end this war, and Harry Potter needed Hermione Granger, but was that a risk he could take? The girl had a sense of fairness and equality that was perfect for what was coming, but he had seen people he had more faith in be swayed by the promises of power and knowledge that the dark offered. He had been tempted himself. He would have to watch her, and discover what had happened to create the muggleborn fiction around her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had spent days on enforced leave in his small cabin, trying to figure out how it had happened. The two men who had set off the explosion were dead so he could not ask them, ambushed by Death Eaters after an overheard comment led the soldiers of the Dark Lord to correctly believe that they had been behind it. The Prewett twins had fought bravely, but in the end, succumbed to their injuries. At the time they had been lauded by the Order as martyrs who fought bravely until the end. Now, Albus wished he could go back and </span>
  <em>
    <span>shake them</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had they been behind it? Had they known? Had the explosion had an ulterior motive? Yaxley hadn’t even been suspected as a Death Eater at the time, so why would they target his wife? On his next circuit of the room, he stopped at the pensieve, trying to grasp everything he knew about that day. The memory of that day brought nothing up about Desdemona Yaxley, but it did trigger something else that might be a clue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still clad in his slippers and dressing gown, he rushed to the study where the Book and Quill of Acceptance lay. Upon opening it, he flipped to the second year students, and there was the connection he needed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione Granger, 46 Redington Road, Hampstead, NW3, London, England.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He slammed the book shut with a force that made the ancient tome creak in protest, and headed for his rooms to dress. He had somewhere he needed to be.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Echoes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Corban returns home, Hermione returns to the common room, and Albus tracks down an old acquaintance.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Corban found himself stepping out of the Floo in Wintergold. He was exhausted and overwhelmed, days of catching only small amounts of sleep on an uncomfortable infirmary chair would do that, and yet his mind was racing too much for him to even consider going to bed. </span>
  <span>Home felt slightly stranger now that it wasn’t just a tomb to what could have been. It had felt as if he was a ghost in his home for years, and coming back now, he couldn’t help but hope that someday his daughter might join him, might call </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> her home, as it should have been for the past thirteen years. He found himself looking at the faded surroundings with a sigh. It was not as large as Malfoy Manor, or as opulent. It was by no means small, but he and Desdemona had used it as a home and not a showpiece. Desdemona herself had chosen most of the furniture, an eclectic mix of comfort and antiques, and he could remember with a smile, when they decided to paint the walls rather than having their house-elf do it, and ended up with charmed pint splatters and ruined robes, but the laughter and memory had been worth it. For once the memory brought more sadness than pain, though the pain was still there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reminded of his wife, he headed towards the potion lab, if it could still be called that. No potions had been brewed there since her death, but he had left it as she had, and in his mind, it would always be her domain. He entered the room, where the elf still hung fresh herbs, and headed to the west wall, where Desdemona’s portrait hung. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, my love.” He murmured to the portrait, a pale facsimile of the bright witch who had made his life better by merely smiling at him. The portrait was like an addiction, and despite knowing that, he always returned to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cor, there you are!” The excited portrait said in relief. “When I hadn’t seen you in two days, I was worried. I searched every painting in the home, and you were nowhere to be found! Are you all right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban knew it wasn’t his wife, that the portrait was just a painted echo, and in a reverse of the myth, Narcissus left pining after Echo. Still, it was hard not to treat the portrait like his wife. It was the only real connection he had to her. “I’m better than I have been since I lost you.” He admitted. “Our daughter is </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Des. She is alive and well and </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> like you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The portrait blinked. He could tell that the spell on the painting was struggling with the concept, but after a moment, the picture’s face exploded in a wide smile that failed to capture the original, but the meaning came through. “How? What’s she like? Where is she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t know how.” He admitted slowly. “I’m going to do my best to find out, though. She’s absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>lovely</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Des. Your hair, and my smile, your curiosity and my inability to let a clue unfollowed, with your potions skill...Severus says she brewed </span>
  <em>
    <span>Polyjuice</span>
  </em>
  <span> successfully in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bathroom</span>
  </em>
  <span>, completely </span>
  <em>
    <span>unsupervised</span>
  </em>
  <span>, at thirteen.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>bathroom?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Desdemona’s portrait repeated, sounding almost offended. “Why on earth...I know the labs in the school aren’t as sterile as I’d like, but a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bathroom?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban found himself laughing, the sound old and rusty. “From what Severus says, she was illegally trying to solve the mystery of the Heir of Slytherin, successfully stole from his stores to do it, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I blame you for that.” Desdemona said, painted eyes not holding the spark that should have been there. “Where is she? I want to see her!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s at Hogwarts.” Corban said gently. “She was raised by muggles, Des. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> find out what happened to the both of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t let yourself get so wrapped up in solving the mystery that you forget to spend time with and get to know her </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Desdemona advised, with a bit of reproof. “How is she doing at Hogwarts?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s a Gryffindor.” Corban said slowly. “Top of her class. I think Lucius is a bit put out that she outranked his boy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gryffindor?” Desdemona repeated, startled. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span> blame your drive to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fix</span>
  </em>
  <span> things and make </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span> right on that. You always did want to make a better world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Corban said, flushing. “I am a Slytherin, through and through!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes.” Desdemona’s portrait replied, teasing. “And as manipulative and cunning as any serpent, but you always </span>
  <em>
    <span>used</span>
  </em>
  <span> it to help others. I remember the Slytherin prefect who used the full body bind on people about to duel. You were one of the rare Slytherins who went into the Aurors.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to lose points.” Corban said, which was only half a lie. “I’ll bring her to see you as soon as I can, Des. I want us both to get to know her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The portrait was quiet for a moment. “What’s her name, Cor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban sighed. “Hermione Granger.” He admitted. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Desdemona answered. “It isn’t Cordelia, like we planned, but it could be worse. At least it wasn’t Juliet. Hermione was at least virtuous and wise, not foolish. While I wished she had your name, at least whoever had her followed my family’s naming tradition.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Corban could only nod, running his fingers over the nameplate that he so loathed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Desdemona Dagworth-Granger</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>14 June 1953 - 19 September 1979</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wed to Corban Yaxley on 1 May 1971</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Hermione felt wrung out, like a wet towel. She barely noted anything on her journey from her Head of House’s office to the common room, and only vaguely noticed the Fat Lady letting her in without the password. In the dim portion of her mind that was always processing, she realised that the password must have changed since the day she was petrified by the basilisk and that Professor McGonagall must have instructed the portrait to allow her inside whenever the petrification was reversed. Stepping through the portrait hole, however, she was taken aback by the sudden greeting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The witch blinked and forced a smile onto her face. “Harry, Ron!” She enthused right back, as her friends ran toward her. She wrapped them in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I got petrified, but I’m so proud of you both for figuring out my note!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We missed you, Hermione.” Harry said, squeezing her a bit tighter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come sit!” Ron said, pulling her toward the comfortable, squashy armchairs in the Gryffindor Common Room. “We’ve got so much to tell you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione just wanted to sleep, but she hadn't been there for them after she was petrified, and so, guilt sat on exhaustion until exhaustion tiredly said </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘uncle’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she folded into the embrace of the chair to hear the story of the Chamber of Secrets and Harry’s battle against the basilisk. </span>
  <span>It was as Ron asked why she hadn’t returned with the other petrified students to the Great Hall that Hermione opened her mouth, and then paused, closing it again. “Professor McGonagall wanted to talk to me about what you had done.” She lied, hating herself, just a little bit for it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tell the boys, to tell someone who was her own age, who could understand her struggle without pats on the hands or ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Miss Granger’</span>
  </em>
  <span>s, but at the same time, she was scared. It felt as though if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>admitted</span>
  </em>
  <span> the truth, it became real. More real than a magical cord around her wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was also the very real chance that they might be angry or toss her over. Ron had declared all Slytherins evil many times, especially this year. The news that her biological father was a Slytherin could be reason enough for him to turn on her, even if she was the same witch. And Harry, if Harry found out what Minerva had told her, that her biological father was a Death Eater, could he still be friends with her? If Mr. Yaxley </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> been under the Imperius, like Professor McGonagall implied, would Harry hate her because her biological father had served the wizard who killed his parents? She had never had friends before Harry and Ron and was loath to lose them. Then, if that weren’t enough,  there was the chance that they would...not be okay with it, but accept it enough that they would stay her friends, but neither of them were particularly good at keeping </span>
  <em>
    <span>secrets</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If they said the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person, or in front of someone...she could lose her </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> parents. The Ministry would steal them away from her. She could not risk it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had to lie and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Mundungus Fletcher started as the knock came on his door. Very few knew where he lived, but that meant nothing if someone tipped off the Aurors. Frightfully annoying things, the Aurors, never seemed to understand that a man had a right to make a living. He was just a trader after all, buying and selling baubles. </span>
  <span>He grabbed his bag and headed for one of the side windows, sliding it open and slipping out of it, only for his hands to slip on the wet window sash, and he tumbled onto the muddy Welsh ground. Shaking his head free from the quaffles that felt like they should be floating around his head, he grasped the hand that was proffered, and then looked up startled into a familiar face. “Oh, hello there, Albus!” He said, flushing red. “Was that you at my door then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed, Mundungus.” Albus said. “Come, let’s head back inside. I have a question to ask of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mundungus felt a little silly for running, when it was only Albus coming to visit him. Albus had gotten him out of trouble many times, and he had led the Order during the war. “O’course.” He said, picking up his fallen hat, and leading the way round to the door. He opened it and let the older wizard into the room. “Lemme just make some tea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Mundungus.” Albus said, taking a seat at the rough hewn table in the kitchenette. He waited as the petty thief placed a  ceramic cup on the table in front of him and sat across from him to speak. “I have been remiss, Mundungus. I really should ask after you more often.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah.” Mundungus replied, easily. “I’m a loner, me. I do my business. It’s enough to know that we’re on good terms, ‘case I ever need a friend in high places, ‘stead of low ones.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do want us to stay friends, Dung.” Albus said, in that grandfatherly tone he had perfected, with just a hint of reproof, as if the thief were a wayward student. “I have some questions about something, back during the war. I thought you may have some insight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Dung asked, surprised. “It was a long while ago, Albus, but I’ll do my best. Whatcha been thinkin’ on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Desdemona Yaxley.” Albus said, sipping his tea and watching the thief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mundungus didn’t know the name and his brow creased. “I knew a Yaxley what was an Auror, but no woman by that name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Truth, Albus sensed. “Desdemona was that Auror’s wife. She died when the Prewetts blew up that barber shop in Horizont Alley, you remember that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t anywhere near that mess, I wasn't.” Mundungus replied, a bit defensively. “Never did me no good, blowing up shops. That was the day I was out and about. You bailed me out of muggle jail the next morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did,” Albus allowed with a nod. “It always seemed a bit odd to me, you out in the muggle world, risking that, and in such a well off neighborhood. It was foolish, and despite what you often display, you are not a stupid man, Mundungus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mundungus looked cagey now. “And I am very grateful for your help and your good opinion, Albus.” He said slowly. “But I never knew nothing about the witch you’re speaking on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but why were you in Hampstead, Dung?” Albus asked. “You wouldn’t be there without a reason.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never touched the witch!” Mundungus said loudly, flushing red. “I may not be a good man, but I ain’t never hurt a woman, and I sure as shite ain’t ever cut a babe from her belly. I ain’t never touched her!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know there was a baby, Mundungus?” He asked, his tone staying the same, but his eyes going harder. “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> you do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dorcas said she rescued it!” Mundungus started to explain. “She said the witch was caught in the blast and dying, the woman was bloody as anything. Dorcas said that the witch begged her to save the babe.” He was shaking slightly under the twinkleless gaze of the Headmaster. He kept speaking as if the words could save him. “I didn’t do nothin’ bad. Dorcas said she was gonna take it, but she couldn’t do it ‘til some time had passed. She was gonna say it was hers n’all. All I did was take the babe to some muggle house that was gonna keep it for a month or so for ‘er, ‘til she could time it so that she could get some that could help ‘er pull a fast one on the Ministry. Alls I did was sneak through an open window and put the babe in a cot. It was perfec’ly safe and healthy when I lef’ it, and the witch was dead when I got there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Albus frowned, filling in the gaps. The Prewett brothers were dead within the month, and Dorcas only days after that. If </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dorcas</span>
  </em>
  <span> had taken the child, then she likely planned to keep it, but her intention to take the child back was destroyed first by Fabian and Gideon’s death at the hands of a vengeful mob of Death Eaters, and then her own murder at the hands of Voldemort. The issue was, how did the muggles fit in? Had the baby been the point of the explosion or a serendipitous bonus? Albus was old, and sadly, he no longer believed in serendipity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The baby is still alive, Mundungus.” Albus answered slowly. “She came to Hogwarts as a muggleborn, none-the-wiser, until the school contacted that former Auror and told him that his daughter was petrified.” His eyes were narrowed. “He is not going to rest until he discovers who kept his daughter from him, and you’re the last one alive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mundungus swallowed. “I swear, I didn’t know anything, Albus!” He said, wiping his brow. “It was just a favor, one Order member to another. I didn’t know nothing. I had no idea who the witch was, honest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do my best to protect you, Dung.” Albus said, frowning as he took another sip of his tea. “But this is the deepest hole you’ve ever found yourself in my friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever you need, Albus.” Mundungus swore, practically feeling the chill of a dementor’s touch creeping in on him. “Whatever you need.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Albus now found himself wondering just </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dorcas was going to get to help her with the Ministry. Dorcas Meadowes hadn’t worked anywhere near the Ministry. It seemed that as he discovered one answer, two more followed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Was</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mundungus the last wizard standing who knew something of the truth that had happened that day, or were yet more people involved? He still had to believe she planned it in some way, but he couldn’t quite figure out how. Dorcas had always had a kind of mastermind quality that even he envied. She played chess on a level that he still hadn’t seen the like. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He eyed the man. “Let me take the memory from you, Mundungus.” he advised, withdrawing a phial from his robes. “That way, if Corban Yaxley </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> find his way here, the memory would be all but impossible for him to find.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mundungus nodded like an over-eager crup, and Albus placed the tip of his wand to the side of the man’s head, pulling the memory forward in a long, silver strand. He placed it in the phial, concealed it back in the voluminous pockets of his robes, and finished his tea, before bidding his friend good night. He had a memory to view, and things would remain safest if he did not do it within Hogwarts. Back to his cottage in Cornwall it was. He really should replace the rugs. The old cabin was seeing more use now than it had since the war.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Investigations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Albus investigates a memory, Hermione struggles with anxiety, and Corban meets an old friend.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The cottage in Cornwall was Albus’s most secluded den in which he liked to hide. It was one of his and Gellert’s from the days before everything had gone sideways, and the old house reminded him constantly of the danger and seductiveness of the dark. It was here he retreated to when he had to confront the past. It seemed appropriate that he confront someone else’s past here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory slid from the phial into the ornate basin that had once belonged to his onetime lover, and Albus caressed the stone before letting himself slide into the surface of the memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing he saw was the sheep patronus of Dorcas Meadowes, something he had never understood, given that the woman was more ruthless than most witches in his long acquaintance. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dung!” The patronus said, with Dorcas’s voice. “I’m over in the alley in Knockturn where we met the first time. I need your help. Get here as soon as you can! I’m injured but not in danger.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus inspected Mundungus, who looked entirely uncertain, but shuffled to his feet, and Albus was drawn with him as the scene changed from Mundungus’s apparition. The alley was dimly lit, even in the bright of day, grimy and dark. It was also bloody.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s this now?” Mundungus asked, taking a step back from the brunette witch who had summoned him. “What you do, Dorcas?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus took the opportunity to examine the woman who had been one of the best members of the Order of the Phoenix. She was obviously injured, burns going down one side of her body in a way that would definitely scar in a few places. He hadn’t expected her to be injured, and there, she was holding a baby. Almost full term, if he was going to guess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with her injuries, Dorcas was still better off than the witch in the back of the alley. It took Albus a moment to even realise that it was a witch. He couldn’t blame Mundungus for believing the witch was already dead. Her right arm was horribly broken and twisted at an extremely unnatural angle, she too was covered in burns, and she was covered in blood. The blood was the most obvious, though, and through it all, Albus could see that Dorcas had, with ruthless application of charms, cut open her womb to retrieve the child which would become Hermione Granger.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dorcas looked injured at Mundungus’s question. “I was caught in the explosion in Horizont.” Dorcas was explaining, holding the baby to her, as if frightened Mundungus would try and take her. “So was that witch. I managed to apparate us both, but I couldn’t make it far, all I could think of was this place.” Dorcas’s brown eyes were wide. “She was dying, and she begged me to save the baby.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus was bothered by the fact that he couldn’t tell if Dorcas was being honest or not. He spared another look to Desdemona Yaxley, but it was impossible to say if the witch would have survived the injuries, or even what injuries she had before Dorcas had taken a wand to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What are you going to do with it?” Mundungus demanded, dropping his affected speech in his demands. “Do you even know who she is?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m going to take her.” Dorcas said, flatly. “We didn’t announce the miscarriage I had after that duel with Wilkes. I’ll pass her off as mine, born early. It’s traditional enough to go into isolation. I just need a little time to set it up. I have someone in the Ministry who can help with the registration, make it look like she was always mine.” Dorcas held the baby closer, looking down at it. “She deserves a good life, a happy life. We can do that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Better you than me.” Mundungus said, shaking his head. “But I’m not hiding a body. I get caught doing that and I’ll never see a day break outside Azkaban.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I wouldn’t trust </span>
  </em>
  <span>you </span>
  <em>
    <span>to hide a body, Dung.” Dorcas said, with an eyeroll. “I need you to take the baby to a house. I’ve got it all handled. The window will be open. You take the baby there, and slip it in the cot, and your good deed is done.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mundungus frowned, his eyes fixing on the body. “This doesn’t feel like a good deed.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You rather leave an unknown baby to the mercies of St. Mungo’s?” Dorcas demanded. “We don’t know who she is! She could be a muggleborn, and some sympathizer at the hospital could smother her. She could be the child of a Death Eater, who would raise her in his bigotry.” Dorcas rocked the newborn slightly. “I’ll take care of her, Dung.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine.” Mundungus managed, holding out his arms, looking very nervous, as if he didn’t know how to hold a baby. “Where am I going?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus listened as Dorcas reeled off the address from the Book of Acceptance, shoved a portkey in Dung’s hand, and warned him as she set it. If Albus hadn’t already known the address, he wouldn’t have heard the dying witch muttering. Her injuries were severe, that much was obviously true.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Co...co...co…” Barely escaped Desdemona’s mouth in a harsh, rattling air.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory shifted, and instead of Albus listening to a dying woman try to call for her husband, Albus found himself standing instead in front of a very rich looking home. He followed as Mundungus obediently went across the street to the long driveway, and then up the side garden. He followed, suspicious, to find the window open, as Dorcas had suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mundungus climbed as stealthily as he could through the window, into a nursery done in sage green with lemon yellow accents and a large giraffe painted on the wall. An empty cot was in the middle of the room, beneath a mobile of stars and planets. Dung very carefully put the baby in the cot, and pulled up the small baby blanket over the child’s body before leaving the house</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Albus found himself leaving the memory, and let it happen, stroking his beard in thought. Mundungus had been honest. He had known nothing about the woman. He had merely helped Dorcas and the baby. If he was honest, he was a little impressed with how gentle he had been with the child -- but none of that changed the situation he now found himself in. What was he going to do about Hermione Granger, or more accurately, what was he going to do about Hermione </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yaxley</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Hermione woke late in the afternoon, and for a few blissful moments, she had no idea about anything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. Unfortunately, after that brief respite, the memories came slamming back in, and she groaned, wishing she was the kind of person who could flip over, throw her covers back over her head and fall back to sleep. She even attempted it, but the whirring thoughts bouncing around inside her skull had no mercy, and their protests were joined by the vocal complaints of her stomach, who reminded her that she had not had anything more than a few pieces of shortbread to eat since being freed from the petrification. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huffing, she threw the covers back, and dressed quickly. It was as she reached her clothes, that she panicked, realising that it was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Monday</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>missing class!</span>
  </em>
  <span> The necessity of food was forgotten, she dressed in her uniform in a rush and ran down the stairs from the dorms, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t receive a detention for being late to class. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She skidded to a stop upon reaching the Common Room, where Ron and Harry were playing chess, and other Gryffindors were scattered about as if </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a Sunday and not a Monday. She walked up to them, head tilted in puzzlement. “What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah!” Ron said, looking up from the board. “You missed the announcement last night. They’ve cancelled exams for the year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hermione shrieked. “What do you mean they </span>
  <em>
    <span>cancelled exams?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cause of Harry defeating the basilisk and everyone being unpetrified.” Ron explained, blinking. “I thought you’d be happy, Hermione?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Happy?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione repeated, hysteria rising in her throat. “Happy that </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ve been working toward </span>
  <em>
    <span>all year</span>
  </em>
  <span> has just been </span>
  <em>
    <span>cancelled</span>
  </em>
  <span>? All my studying, all my work, just...for </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” It felt a little like the walls were closing in on her. Unsure about what else to do, she fled from the Common Room, unsure of where she was headed, and yet, knowing without a doubt that she had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was as if all the emotions she had felt since the Heir of Slytherin’s message first appeared was crashing over her all at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ran without knowing where she was going, until she reached the owlery. She flung herself toward the open, arching windows, holding tight to two of the stone pillars and tried to sort her thoughts, to control her breathing, but she struggled. The air crackled with magic, but then she heard a low coo from an owl, which, unlike the others, had not fled from her when she slammed into their home. Instead, it talon-walked over to her right hand, and the white-knuckled grip she had on it. Almost, as if attempting to comfort her, the owl rubbed it’s head against her hand like a cat asking to be petted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s breathing, still unsteady, caught, but she forced the fingers of her other hand to release from the support, and moved it towards the owl, who, as if sensing what she needed, stayed where it was. “Hello.” She managed softly. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The owl looked up at her with wide eyes and chirped in answer, and then held out it’s leg towards her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, do you have a message for someone?” Hermione asked, tilting her head to read what the envelope said. It was a bit of a surprise to see her own name staring back at her, but her muscles, tired from the anxiety she had been experiencing let go. “That’s why you were helping me.” Hermione decided. “You have to deliver your letter.” Hermione didn’t care about the letter or what it held. She could take in no more information at this point. Instead, she dragged a chair over from the corner of the room, and fell into it. The owl hooted softly and flew into her lap, and there, Hermione stayed.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Corban wasn’t lying when he said he regularly looked into the explosion that killed his wife. It took almost no effort on his part to meet with one of his old Auror buddies after a good night’s sleep and a long shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you’re looking better, Yaxley.” James Williamson told him as he slid into the seat across from his friend in the pub of the closest ghetto by Wintergold. “Did something happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Corban said with a nod, smiling despite himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> smiling?” Williamson repeated, shocked. “You, the cold-hearted snake himself?” He, like everyone else who had been in the Auror department after the death of Desdemona Yaxley, had seen the way Corban had retreated into a cold shell of himself. Those who weren’t surprised by his ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>apparent’</span>
  </em>
  <span> turn to the Death Eaters assumed that it happened after her death, and that it was in revenge for what everyone in the department had </span>
  <em>
    <span>known</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but had never been able to publicise as a strike against known Death Eaters. “Is it a witch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but not like you’re thinking.” Corban replied, sipping on his coffee. “I need something from you, Williamson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Williamson, for his part, didn’t immediately agree. “Is this something I should know and report?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Minister is already aware of the underlying issue.” Corban replied, diplomatically. It was true, and that fact took the burden of reporting off of James. If his superior did not report it, then it wasn’t up to James to make the decision to do so. “You handled some of the outlying cases at that time. Were there any unknown bodies outside of Horizont or in the muggle world with…” He paused. “Unusual trauma?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unusual how?” Williamson asked, reaching into his bag for the old notebooks he always brought to these meetings. This was an unusual request. They had gone over many reports from that time, but this was the first time when Corban was specifying trauma. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Evidence of disembowelment with organs missing?” Corban suggested. “Bodies left cut open with the reproductive organs missing? Anything that looks like it could have been a death from a botched cesarean section?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James Williamson froze, raising his eyes to his friend. “Are you telling me that your daughter is alive? That someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>cut open</span>
  </em>
  <span> your wife and </span>
  <em>
    <span>stole</span>
  </em>
  <span> your baby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I told you that, you would be required to report it.” Corban reminded his friend. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>If</span>
  </em>
  <span> such a thing had happened, my daughter would have spent thirteen years with other people. <em>If</em> those people are not responsible, she would never forgive me if I cut her off from them.” He paused. “<em>Theoretically, of course</em>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Williamson agreed, mind clicking at speed. “You would want to see these people she’s with punished, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Corban sighed. “Hypothetically, even if they are involved, they would never see justice. If they are not involved...she would never forgive me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Williamson was startled. There were very few who would be immune from prosecution for something as heinous as a murder and a kidnapping. As Aurors they both knew those laws. “Corban, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theoretically, of course.” Corban reminded him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Williamson agreed. “A hypothetical to ponder on in free moments.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely. A needle in a haystack in old files, my friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Corban laughed at that. “I haven’t been your superior since before you grew that damn ponytail, Williamson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Old habits, sir.” James Williamson said with a grin. “But either way, it’s good to see </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> again, Yaxley. That other crotchety old bastard you’ve been harboring in your skin gets a bit tiring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Corban laughed, hoping that soon, that ‘crotchety old bastard,’ could be put entirely to rest with real answers as to what had happened that bleak, bloody, September day. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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